


Falling Inside the Black

by Nekoluver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble, First Blade, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 10 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekoluver/pseuds/Nekoluver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has tried to resist the call of the First Blade, but its an itch he can't help but scratch. Cain warned him what would happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Inside the Black

**Author's Note:**

> My sister and I were having a discussion about possibilities after the most recent episode and suddenly a fanfiction/fanart collab was born... It was born of pain and suffering.  
> Find the original art post [here](http://shanikins42.tumblr.com/post/111832785564/as-dean-drew-closer-the-angels-head-snapped-up)!

_You were my source of strength_  
 _I’ve traded everything_  
 _That I love for this one thing_  
 _(Stranded in the offering)_  
 _Don’t leave me here like this _  
 _Can’t hear me scream from the abyss_ __

"Falling Inside the Black" - Skillet

 

 

Ever since Dean got the Mark he’d felt something building just below the surface of his skin. It was sort of like an itch- a throbbing, needy itch. It was a desperate combination of the days he’d gone without a proper meal because John was too busy hunting to feed his kids and the heady anticipation leading to the first time someone had wrapped their lips around his dick. It was maddening. It made him restless, irritable, and sometimes he had to close his eyes and count to ten just to be able to listen to Sam talk without trying to rip his throat out with his teeth.  
  
That was before he’d killed Cain. Back then it was hard as hell to fight the urges, and he’d had to clamp down on all of his emotions to keep from exploding. Every time he’d kill he lost a little bit more of his self-control, urges gradually leaking out of his own personal Pandora’s Box. Killing Cain was like breaking the final seal on Hell. Suddenly he was being bombarded with a steady stream of “killkillkill” that just got louder and louder the longer he resisted. The longer he held back the more he felt like he was going to explode or throw up or _something_.  
  
He could feel his humanity slipping away again, drawing him further into the darkness and that _thing_ he had been. His hands were always shaking now, twitching for the Blade, and it made him feel weak. Made him angry. Made him crave the power and control the First Blade had given him.  
  
The angel Castiel had tried to hide the Blade, following Dean’s orders like the good solider he’d once been. He didn’t hide it well enough, although it wasn’t his fault. Dean could feel the Blade in his veins; feel the Mark calling out to it. He could hear it whisper in his dreams, pulling him in. Eventually the whispers became a scream and suddenly he knew where it was. Nothing could stop him this time. He _needed_ it. He shouldn’t follow that call. He knew what happened once it was in his hand again, but he couldn’t resist; didn’t want to. Nothing felt right; nothing made sense when the Mark and the Blade were so far apart.  
  
Once his fingers closed around the hilt the screaming stopped. He could’ve wept for you if he were prone to such girly displays of emotion. He wasn’t, but God that power pulsating through his veins felt sweet. It was better than pie, better than sex. It was its own kind of perfection.  
  
It was inevitable that Castiel would try to take the Blade back, but that wasn’t an option. Dean had him broken and bloody and on his knees before the angel had time to draw a breath. Damn, that felt good. Violence was what Dean was built floor, and the Blade just made it so damn easy.  
  
The angel’s eyes were squinted shut, blood trickling down his face and staining the collar of his trench coat. “Dean… Dean…” It was a whimper, or maybe it was a prayer. It didn’t matter, because the hunter wasn’t an angel. He didn’t have patience or mercy for anyone who dared try to separate him from the Blade.  
  
As Dean drew closer the angel’s head snapped up, wide, pleading eyes meeting the hunter’s cold stare. “Dean, I-” The hunter cut him off by roughly grabbing a handful of trench coat, dragging him up slightly to level their gazes. 

  
The angel sagged in his grip, too broken to hold himself up, but desperate and determined. He gripped the hunter’s forearm to steady himself before gasping, “Dean, I need you too.”  
  
The Blade was shoved through the angel’s chest before Dean had time to process those words. He twisted the fabric in his grip, using it to brace himself as he ripped the Blade back out, splattering the floor with blood. He stepped to the side as he released his grip on the trench coat, and the angel slumped face-down on the floor without the support. 

  
Dean’s eyes widened as the Blade clattered to the floor. “Cas?” he asked uncertainly.

The angel’s eyes began to glow and Dean took a step back, shielding his eyes, knowing what came next. When he opened them all he saw was ash dusting the back of the angel’s shoulders and covering the floor. Smoke curled up from the hole the blade had torn through the angel’s body as if his soul had been burnt out of the human vessel.

“Cas?” Dean choked on that one syllable, unworthy to speak the name. He stepped forward again, falling to his knees in front of the vacant corpse. His trembling hand reached out to gently prod at one lifeless shoulder. “Cas, please…” A tear rolled down Dean’s cheek and landed on the back of his hand. He turned it over, seeing his palm smearing with blood and ash. “CASTIEL!” The scream was wretched and broken; tearing itself from the pieces of shattered soul Castiel had carefully stitched back together after Dean’s stay in Hell.  
  
He could feel something calling to him then, and noticed the Blade lying close to Cas’ body. A mantra of “Nononono” had started pounding in Dean’s skull as he tried to clean the Blade with his sleeve. It was a crude instrument, and the angel’s blood had thoroughly soaked into all the nooks and crannies in the blade’s design. There were bits of flesh stuck between the teeth, and everything was covered in a thick layer of wing ash. The harder he rubbed at it the more everything smeared and stained. No matter what he did, he would never be able to get it clean.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for you feedback


End file.
